Classic Poem

Dear Reliques of a dislodg'd Soul, whose lack
Makes many a mourning paper put on black!
O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head
And wind thy self up close in thy cold bed.
Stay but a little while, until I call
A summons worthy of thy funerall.
Come then, YOUTH, BEAUTY, & blood!
All ye soft powres,
Whose sylken flatteryes swell a few fond howres
Into a false aeternity. Come man;
Hyperbolized NOTHING! know thy span;
Take thine own measure here: down, down, & bow
Before thy self in thine idaea; thou
Huge emptynes! contract thy self; & shrinke
All thy Wild circle to a Point. O sink
Lower & lower yet; till thy leane size
Call heavn to look on thee with narrow eyes.
Leser & lesser yet; till thou begin
To show a face, fitt to confesse thy Kin,
Thy neighbourhood to NOTHING.
Proud lookes, & lofty eyliddes, here putt on
Your selves in your unfaign'd reflexion,
Here, gallant ladyes! this unpartiall glasse
(Though you be painted) showes you your true face.
These death-seal'd lippes are they dare give the ly
To the lowd Boasts of poor Mortality
These curtain'd windows, this retired eye
Outstares the liddes of larg-look't tyranny.
This posture is the brave one this that lyes
Thus low, stands up (me thinkes,) thus & defies
The world. All-daring dust & ashes! only you
Of all interpreters read Nature True.